


Sucker!

by Aownr1669



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:20:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aownr1669/pseuds/Aownr1669
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl's taking his sweet time...and she's tired of it.   Rated M for Mature Audiences only, please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sucker!

Lollipops drive guys nuts. They really do. They can be quite an effective weapon. Very useful for torturing a skittish man because he's driving you crazy by not making that final move. I'm not talking about the Catholic-school-girl plaid miniskirt, white blouse tied up, hair in pigtails, dance around a pole licking a giant, multi-colored sucker stripper routine. No. That's a little too obvious. I'm taking about a simple, innocent, who me? I'm just enjoying some candy, get your dirty mind outta the gutter, shame on you, Tootsie Pop. Easy. Simple. Dirty.

So when the kids and I were sitting at a picnic table one Tuesday afternoon before dinner, playing Go Fish and lolling around camp, I took advantage of the situation. I'm kinda ashamed...no, not really now that I think about it. Carl had a giant bag of Charms Blow-Pops. What a wonderful, wonderful name, don't you think? Rick had brought them back from their last raiding trip into a town and Sophia and Carl were happy that at least one bastion of kiddom was still available.

"Want one?" Carl said. "There's bubble gum in the middle."

"Naw, those things'll rot your teeth." I answered, laying down a pair of sevens.

Sophia chimed in. "They're good. I like to see if I can make it to the middle without biting."

Daryl was sitting in front of his tent, a few yards away but still within earshot. He had his bow on his lap and was rubbing it with something greasy. How many times had I wished I was that fucking bow of his? Yeah. Sometimes I think that bow's attached to him. He sure handles it like it is, if you get my drift. Cleans it, oils it, strokes it, always got his hands on it. Mmm. I blinked and had to look away. He caught me looking at him. He knew exactly what I was thinking, based on the sly little way the corner of his mouth turned up. That mouth. That mole. That stubble. Dear God.

"Oh, what the heck." I said, reaching into the bag and pulling out one. "Hey, cherry, my favorite!" I said in a deliberately loud voice. I unwrapped the Blow-pop slowly and held it up, looking at it from underneath. "They're bigger than I remembered." I said. I looked at Daryl out of the corner of my eye and saw that he was watching still, his gaze now intent.

I put it between my lips and slowly pulled it back out, letting them drag on the sweet, dry candy. "Mmm." I said. I turned my back to Sophia and Carl, no way were they going to watch what I was about to do. I put the red orb back to my lips and stuck out my tongue, running it up and then back down the sucker, ever so slowly, making sure that I was getting it wet with spit, running it up and down the length of my slightly extended tongue. I stopped and licked my lips, making sure that they were wet now. With the sucker still parked in front of my lips, I looked over at Daryl with the best set of bedroom eyes I could muster. Head tilted slightly downward, looking up from under my brows, lips slightly apart, I blinked. Slowly. Daryl's jaw dropped, his mouth was still closed, but his jaw-line went slack. Gotcha, asshole, I thought to myself.

Now, you might be curious as to why I felt the need to torture poor Daryl Dixon. I'm sure, you think, he's done nothing to deserve it. Well, you're partly right. He's done nothing. Not a fucking thing...and when I use the f-word there, I mean it literally. He hasn't made a move on me other than a pretty hot make-out session one night after everyone in camp was fairly-well toasted on a couple bottles of expensive vodka the guys had found in an abandoned car and we both ended up peeing in the woods at the same time. Oh, he's brushed against me "by accident" a couple times, copping a quick feel, usually with the safety of other people around who might see. One time, I was standing against a table, washing dishes and he walked up behind me on the pretenses of getting a coffee mug and leaned his hips into my ass, pushing me forward almost enough to make me lose my balance and have to put my hands down. Not that I wouldn't have liked to spend some time with Daryl in that position, but clothes on, soapy hands, middle of camp? Nuh-huh. That time he stuck his fingers in my belt loops and pulled me back against him, growling low in my ear, "Careful. Don't drop nothin'." and walking off nonchalantly.

I nearly had a full-blown come-apart right then and there. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a slut or anything. I've only had a handful of boyfriends in high school and college and beyond. Nothing casual, all very nice and respectable. Fourth or fifth date rule generally applied. I'm not a prude either, trust me. I enjoy a good fuck as much as any other red-blooded woman. Nowadays, what with the little issue of the end-of-the-world thingy, I would have thought I would have swung just the other way. No, not THAT way, but not wanting to get involved, not wanting to complicate the few relationships that I do have left. No drama. But still. There's Daryl.

Daryl. It's just...something about him. Hot, sweaty, dirty, cross-bow wieldin', scruffy ol' Daryl with his little hey, watch my ass strut to his stride and his slow Georgia drawl. I hear him say the most innocent of things, when he does bother to speak, and it's like torture. Sticky, sweet, dripping with implied sex. Like warm honey sliding down your ass cheek. I'm guessing on that last one...but you get the idea. That's what Daryl does to me. I can't help it. I had a friend in college once remark about a certain guy that he made her ovaries twitter. Yeah. Bingo. Daryl's like that.

I know he's interested. You can't feel a girl up in the dark against a pine tree and check her tonsils for strep with your tongue and not be at least a little bit interested. You can't lick rib sauce with your tongue off the vee between your thumb and forefinger while you're looking at her across a camp fire, eyes twinkling, grinning and not be interested. You can't watch her peel off a sweatshirt down to a tight tank-top and have to disappear into your tent for awhile and not be interested. I just wish he'd do more to find out how interested I am. Because I am. Very. Extremely. Desperately.

So back to the not-so-hidden message to the God White of the Woods. I put the Blow-pop back in my mouth and pull it out again, licking my lips. Then I take my now-red tongue and run it around the middle of the sucker. Slow, around again. Yeah, Daryl. Think about it. I close my lips around it and do it again, this time, my whole head moves as my tongue slowly circles the hard candy. I pull it out slowly and hold it aside, this time smiling, biting my lower lip a little in an evil little smirk. He sits up straighter, as if to say "You have my complete attention." Fucker, I know I do...and then some.

"Hey, Sophia, Carl, why don't you go find your Moms over at Dale's motor home. I have something I gotta do for a bit." I say, getting the kids out of the way. My back is to Glenn and T-dog and they're oblivious to what's unfolding near them, sitting by the fire ring, making plans for their next trip into town, scoping out small towns.

Daryl is watching me like I'm prey. If he's lucky, I will be. I tease him some more with the Blow-Pop, my lips closing around it, my hand on the end of the stick as it disappears further and further, almost to the end. Is it wrong to deep-throat a lollipop? I wonder. Daryl's mouth is open now and his head is down. If I were closer, I wouldn't be surprised to see that his breathing's starting to get shallower, faster. I do this several times, leisurely. In between, I make sure to pull it halfway out and run my tongue around the middle. On the last pass, I pull it out and take my thumb and wipe pretend spit off the corner of my mouth. Daryl looks away and closes his eyes for a second and then returns to my gaze. His eyes are half-shut now and he's got his lips pressed together, like he's biting his tongue. Here, lemme help ya' with that, Daryl.

It's time to bring it home. Or rather, bring him over to me. This had better work because the only things left I can think of doing would probably get me on a sex offenders list if things were normal in the world. I work my tongue around the sucker and pull it out, flicking the top back and forth, stopping to lick my own lips to make sure they're nice and almost-dripping with the sticky combination of cherry candy and my own saliva. I change to putting the Blow-pop in, pulling it out slowly and as it pops out, I flick my tongue, pushing hard against it. Repeatedly. I put it in my mouth halfway again and suck in my cheeks, pulling it in slowly now. Once more, I put it in front of my lips, close them around it, look him right in the eye and push the stick in almost to the end. I close my eyes and smile as lean my head back and start to remove it millimeter by millimeter.

When I open then a second later, Daryl has put the cross bow down on the cooler and is standing up. Kind of. He's turned away from the campfire and in profile I can see that he's fighting a pretty good hard-on. Yay me, I tell myself. He stands up all the way and turns to me, his eyes burning into mine as he starts walking. The swagger in his step is gone and he's walking like he's on fire and the hose is a block away. Hopefully at least parts of him are on fire. Hard boot sounds on the dry earth under the grass. His fists are clenched and his head is down like a bull ready to charge. I start to grin and put the sucker in my mouth, moving it to the side like a big wad of chew, so I can speak. I don't think I need to say anything, really.

He reaches me in no time, slamming his hands on either side of me on the picnic table.

"What...the...fuck." he growls, his breath is short, hitched. I look up at his face. He's sweating, a sheen on his forehead and the bridge of his nose. I look down at the top of his shirt and his chest is sweaty as well, the smattering of light brown chest hair damp, visible above the open buttons of his sleeveless gray work shirt. His eyes are dark blue, clear and piercing. He looks at me as if he wants to eat me and right now, I'd let him. He blinks and narrows his eyes slightly, almost imperceptibly. He is at a loss for words and I love it. Now he knows how he makes me feel. Craving. Needful. A slow burn that wells up from the bottom and snakes it way through every organ, every crevice, every part of me. Like Icy Hot - cool and warm at the same time. Confusing. Or the first time a guy touched you down there-you're unsure of exactly what you're feeling, but knowing you're feeling something you can't get enough of. Won't be able to ever get enough of.

"Want one?" you ask, patting the bag Carl left on the table.

He leans in whispers the dirtiest thing I've every heard in my life. I guess it was, I really didn't hear clearly because my brain shut down when I felt his hot breath in my ear. Warm and steamy, Georgia drawl with Hershey's syrup. Pecan pie filling still hot from the oven. I look up at him and nod slowly, licking my lips unconsciously. Daryl turns around and looks at Dog and Glenn, still engrossed in their map. He lifts a hand off the table and puts it between my legs, pushing the back of his hand into me as he leans over again. I gasp. I know now what he said. I know now what he's going to say.

"Get 'n that fuckin' tent now." he hisses slowly in my ear. Wicked. Dirty. Sinful. The snake from the Garden of Eden could not have been more tempting. My mind immediately rolls over and surrenders all will. I will be putty. His toy. He moves his hands and stands, taking a step back, allowing me to hop off the table. I start walking to his tent, my legs shaking a bit, weak with anticipation. I turn around and look at him. Daryl's removes a Blow-pop from the bag of suckers and tucks it in his shirt pocket. He turns back and gives me a look that sends an electric tingle from my center out. It hangs on the edges of my nerves, vibrating, waiting. "Payback gonna' be a bitch." he whispers as he pats his pocket. I turn back towards the tent and start walking as fast as I can.


End file.
